Laundromat Love
by Alec Depp
Summary: Draco takes refuge in the muggle world and meets a mysterious stranger at the laundromat . . . .love will ensue. . .
1. The Muggle World

A/N Okay, this is my first fanfic, so please R&R. This was born on a bus ride from a retreat at our school, thanks to my friend Sam, aka SamAbberline. TTYL! 

Disclaimer: JK owns everything, except for the house.

The lanky seventeen-year old paced the floor in a rage, the face that so many girls swooned over twisted furiously, occasionally throwing some decoration at the wall. He muttered to himself constantly, having no one else to talk to about the indignity of the situation. Finally, he exhausted himself and sank down on to the huge bed attached to the wall. Fingering the green and white bedspread, his lip curled in a sneer. At least the muggles had a good sense of taste in color. Lying down, he stared at the ceiling and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Flashback 

"_I have to WHAT??" Draco strode across the Headmaster's office angrily, fuming. "I REFUSE to live with. . . with **muggles**." He threw himself into a chair and glared malevolently at the hatefully calm Dumbledore sitting across from him._

"_Mr. Malfoy, I know you have a . . . dislike . . . for the non-wizarding community, but I'm afraid you have no choice. You do recall last year. You made your father quite angry."_

_Draco paused in his rage. The year previously, that Potter boy had defeated Voldemort and died in the effort. Lucius Malfoy had killed him, in a rage because of the death of his master. Humiliated at the capture of his family, Draco had publicly renounced his entire family as Death Eaters. His father, thrown in Azkaban as a result, had been **pissed**. Recently, however, he had managed to escape. No one knew how, but all of the old supporters of the Dark Lord had banded themselves around Lucius Malfoy, and were expected to become a formidable force once again – and Draco's father was set on revenge. Now Dumbledore had devised a plan involving getting Draco as far away as possible from his father until the initial danger was over. Not only was Draco upset at the thought of not being the one to kill his father, but he also did not want to have to live with muggles. "_Filthy, stupid mudbloods," _he thought savagely, still staring at Dumbledore. He realized that the old man had been speaking and hurried to tune in._

"_. . . in a very nice neighborhood. Not in England, of course, but I think you'll rather like California. We've got you a place in a town called. . . Woodplace? Roughside? Woodside, I think it is. Anyways, you'll soon find out. You shall be escorted to Hogsmeade, where you may Apparate directly to your new home. Good luck, Mr. Malfoy."_

_End Flashback_

Draco woke with a start. Glaring around the room as though daring it to defy him, he gave up. _I may as well look around at my new 'home'. _He'd been quite astonished when he discovered that he was not to be living in a mansion. Admittedly, it was slightly better than some of the hovels he'd seen going over Wisconsin, but it was definitely trading down from Malfoy Manor. _I mean, this place doesn't even have a name!_ Sighing, he got off the bed, almost slamming into the door, although they were a good three feet apart. The door opened on to a spacious room, facing south. The bed, which faced east, looked over a window that would show the sunrise every morning. Draco was shocked to find himself looking forward to this. He was a Malfoy – they did _not_ watch the sunrise or sunset!! Shaking his head to put his thoughts back to normal, he tore his gaze away from the window. A couch and two chairs were grouped around a large, circular footrest, with a – what was it called? A Muggle-vision? He was pretty sure it was called a TV, but he didn't know what to stand for. Anyways, it actually looked fairly cozy. The walls had green paint on them, a fact he noted with pleasure.

A creak sounded behind him. Whirling around as he pulled his wand out, he saw that there was another door behind him. Door_way_, more like, since there didn't actually seem to be a door attached. Halfway through curling his lip into his trademark smirk at this conspicuous absence of a basic appliance, he stopped. Stepping back, he realized that he rather liked it better without the door there. Glancing to his left, he noticed that there was another doorway on the other side of the bed. He stepped through the one closest to him and looked around. The other doorway he had seen was just on the other side of a short hall, perhaps six feet across. Next to him, along the other side of the wall that had the bed on it, was an ancient Chinese dresser, and in front of him was a large cabinet. He opened it to find that it contained more muggle-ware. Across from the other doorway was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. An entire row of mirrors. He opened them and discovered well-organized closets hidden behind them. Right between the cabinet and the mirrors was the bathroom, with a large shower, a bath, two sinks and a toilet.

Leaving what he supposed was the master bedroom (although it did not compare in the least with the one he had been staying in up until his return to Hogwarts), he entered the upstairs hallway. Four rooms branched off of it. Entering the first one, he found it rather bland. It was large and airy with a red sleigh bed in it, but it held no interest for him. Perhaps it was because the red bedspread and yellow wallpaper reminded him of Gryffindor and Potter too much. He suppressed a lurch of guilt. Remembering the look on the littlest Weasel's face when her icon – and ex-boyfriend – had been killed was painful, even though it wasn't his fault. Draco quickly exited the room and found himself back in the hall. A staircase descended to the lower level, but he didn't go down them yet. The room nearest the one he had just been in was boring – a . . . what was it called? Ah, yes, and _ironing board_ – sat in the middle of the narrow room, and nothing else except for a table and a few drawers.

The next room was not much more interesting. He crossed the hall and entered the room farthest away from the stairs. Once again, a large and airy room, this one with two beds and little else. He closed the door and snorted. A "No Dumping" sign was taped to the outside.

This last room – now this one was vaguely fascinating. The door was shut, but had a picture of a little girl on it, with long, dark brown hair and a flower tucked behind her ear. Around that were nine or ten little pieces of paper with – he moved closer – _fortunes_ on them. So perhaps muggles did have fortune-telling after all! He opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately, his head spun. The room was split-level, with some of the weirdest dimensions he had ever seen. A bed with a black-and-white duvet was six feet in front of him, next to a bedside table and dresser. A window sat quaintly on the other side of the bedside table, which held a lamp, a muggle device called . . . was it a phone? . . . and a jewelry box. At the foot of the bed was another dresser leaning against the wall, facing towards door through which Draco had just entered. Still standing in the doorway, he swung his head to the right – a door leading to a closet – and to his left – a bookshelf crammed with books and memorabilia. Just past the bookshelf were three doors – another closet. The closet was directly opposite the dresser at the foot of the bed. Between them and slightly away from the bed was a desk, the messiest of which Draco had ever seen. A black . . .computer? was the centerpiece, and above and around it was a shelf with pictures, stickers, and assorted pieces of paper with pictures and words on them. In addition, there was a laminated paper that said "Diploma" in it, scattered books, and a stereo. He looked more closely at the papers with words on them. They were taped onto the shelf. Four of them said 'Nirvana' with another word on it – Nevermind, In Utero, Bleach, and Incesticide. Another said 'Who Are You' with a picture of four men lounging in a workroom, and the final said 'The Clash'.

Mystified as to what these might be, Draco shook his hair out of his face to examine the pictures. Both featured what may have been an older version of the girl on the door, perhaps early or mid-teens. The hair was shorter and slightly more blonde, and she had thinned out nicely from the other picture, but other than that, she looked remarkably unchanged. He would probably shag her, given the opportunity. A beautiful amethyst hung down from the top shelf towards the computer, catching the feeble sunlight and casting blood red droplets of light dancing on the desk. Behind the desk was a balcony-type area, looking down approximately five feet to the rest of the room. Three stairs descended into the lower portion, which had another TV (what _did_ that stand for?) and – he did a double-take – a life-size cutout of a sneering man with blonde hair that so resembled Draco himself that his jaw dropped for a fleeting instant. He quickly regained his composure and glanced around casually, as though someone may have seen him. Going back towards the two stairs, he saw a bathroom and went inside. An assortment of bottles was scattered about on the counter, next to another large shower and another mirrored door. This one was locked.

A flash lit the tiled room and Draco quickly looked up. Outlined against a window in the ceiling – who would put a _window_ on the_ ceiling_ of a_ bathroom_?? – was a brilliant gold feather with a roll of parchment. Seizing it before it hit the ground, he pulled it open so quickly he was afraid it might rip. It was a note from Dumbledore, explaining that the house belonged to a family with three girls. They were currently on summer vacation in the U.K. and should return in about a month. The headmaster was hoping that Lucius would be defeated by then, but, if not, he would try to convince the family to allow Draco to stay with them. The oldest daughter would be suitable as a Secret-Keeper. Dumbledore concluded the letter, "Feel free to explore the house and surrounding gardens, they all belong to the family. And please, Draco, _stay unnoticed_." Almost as soon as Draco finished the letter, it burned in his hands. He sighed and left the room to continue examining the house.


	2. Memories

A/N New chapter . . . a bit of information about our love interest. Yes, I'm schizophrenic. I mean, we are.

Flashback "You're not coming, and that's final! Ginny, I won't see you injured fighting Voldemort!"   
Ginny had never seen Harry so angry. She didn't really care, however, as the famous Weasley temper was currently coursing through her veins. "So you think that just because you're my boyfriend, you can tell me what to do?" she yelled right back. "Well, I have news for you, Harry. Just because so many other people worship you for being protected by your mother, that doesn't mean I have to listen to you. There is no way in HELL I am missing the final battle, and you know it. I will go out on the field if you are dragging against my arm and it's the last thing I do!" 

_Harry's vivid green eyes watched her angrily, seeming emit sparks. "**FINE**. But if you are going to insist on doing that, you will not be doing it as my girlfriend. I just dated you because I felt sorry for you after fifth year, you know."_

_Ginny's eyes filled with tears. She knew he probably didn't mean it, but it hurt nonetheless. She turned on her heel and ran away as fast as she could._

_End Flashback_

Ginny straightened up in bed and surveyed her new room without much interest. She had spent the better part of three hours yesterday putting up all of her belongings before falling asleep on the bed she had prepared minutes before. Letting her gaze wander around the room, her throat tightened as her gaze fell on the framed picture that Hermione had given her as a going-away present. _Some present_, she thought bitterly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione's faces all smiled up at her, waving and laughing. Ginny felt like crying. _Stop it,_ she told herself sternly. _It's not as though it was your fault. And besides, you'd broken up already_. These thoughts did nothing to soothe her mind.

Tearing her gaze away from the picture, she strode quickly to the 'kitchen.' This was also known as the left-hand wall of the living room, which was the middle of the apartment. The bedroom was actually more of just a bed on the right-hand side. Since the previous occupants had moved to Australia or thereabouts, she had had to completely redecorate the apartment. Hung on the pink-speckled walls were a mirror and several pieces of artwork. Some of them Ginny had done herself, but most were replicas of her favorite artists. Surprisingly, few wizards had ever been exemplary artists, but she was very appreciative of the muggles Van Gogh, Picasso, and Andy Warhol, despite their clashing tastes. Her absolute favorite, Starry Night, hung above her bed in a place of honor.

Ginny made herself some coffee to wake up and sat down on the loveseat in the main area. After Harry died, she had moved into the muggle world to take a break from wizarding for a while. She still had her wand and everything, but she decided to take the summer vacation away from Ron, Hermione, Colin Creevy, and Hogwarts in general.

Sighing, she went to the closet to select an outfit. _I'd better go to the Laundromat today_, she thought, noting the pile of clothes on the floor. Ginny selected a pair of black, ankle-high boots made of dragon hide, black jeans, a t-shirt from UCB (a store she had just found – unfortunately, it was quite a drive away, but definitely worth it), and a gray duster (the American term for a tie-on sweater that fell to the knees), laid the clothes out on the bed, and stepped into the shower.

After a good, half-hour long shower, Ginny wrapped the towel around her and examined her reflection in the mirror. She had recently discovered the Metamorphmagus blood that ran in her family, enough to change her appearance at will. Since she needed to be disguised in the muggle world, she would constantly switch her hair color, her body shape, and so forth. Today, she decided on dark brown hair falling slightly past her shoulders, straight with blonde and dark red highlights. Her large brown eyes with long black lashes remained unchanged, but the freckles disappeared from around her nose and her skin darkened to a medium tan. _Now. . . the body . . ._ She shot up, her already tall frame growing to six feet, slender but well-built. Tying a white ribbon in her hair to keep it away from her face, she dressed and began the walk to the laundromat.

A/N I know it's really short, but since I'm not expecting many people to read this, I figure I'll keep it quick. The next chapter, they will meet, I promise.


	3. Launderland!

A/N Dun dun dun!! Okay, for the record, I don't actually know how to do laundry, so bear with me here, people.

Disclaimer: It all belongs to the genius known as J.K. Rowling. Unfortunately, in my opinion, she does not give these two characters enough screen . . . ahem. . . book. . . time. If it were up to me, they would _so_ be front and center. But the world's not perfect.

Satisfied with his thorough exploration of the house, Draco lounged elegantly in the split-level bedroom. He liked it better then the master bedroom. _It's not Malfoy Manor . . . but it'll do_, he thought. Strange that he hadn't seen any servants. His traveling clothes were getting fairly dirty, and he had no interest in cleaning them with his wand. There was a muggle way for cleaning clothes . . . what was it called? His brow furrowed in concentration, the word finally came to him. _Laundry_. He'd seen the machines downstairs, but, having no idea how to use them, had waited until someone showed up to do the. . ._laundry_ . . . for him. Obviously, no one was coming.

Heaving a long, dramatic sigh, Draco removed himself from the bed and went into the bathroom. After a shower, he examined his appearance in the mirror. Waving his wand, he changed his hair to a black color, leaving his eyes the same icy gray/blue. Then he altered his nose a little bit so that it wasn't as distinctive, making it less aristocratic and more plain.

Walking to the driveway, he found a number of cars parked around the circular patch of roses in the middle. When he was fifteen or thereabouts, he often nicked cars from the nearest muggle town and learned to drive them. Of course, 'near' is a relative term – the closest city to Malfoy Manor is over 100 miles away, after all.

Pulling himself back to the present, Draco surveyed the different cars. A few he didn't care for at all, but there _was_ a bright-red Jaguar convertible that looked quite nice . . . then he saw the Ferrari. _Well, that answers it then,_ he said to himself happily. Settling down into the leather seat, he drove carefully around town, looking for a place with the same strange machines as he had seen in the house. Finally, on a road called El Camino, he found what he was looking for. '**_Launderland_**' proclaimed the sign over the door. The storefront window boasted several of the machines, so Draco parked and went inside. He sat down expectantly on one of the benches, waiting for one of the attendants to take his dirty clothing and wash it.

It hadn't been long before a young woman – eerily reminiscent of the girl in the pictures – arrived and placed her own bundles in the washing thingy. After she pressed several buttons and added some kind of powder, she sat down next to him. Draco determinedly kept his gaze on the attendant, praying that she would come to him. He could feel the girl's eyes on him. Finally, she asked in a forcibly light tone, "So, if you don't come to the Laundromat to do laundry, then are you here to pick up girls?"

Sighing, Draco chanced a sidelong glance at her. She was watching him expectantly, waiting for a laugh, an answer, some kind of response. "Nonsense," he replied arrogantly, "I'm waiting for the attendant. It's not like I can work one of these muggle contraptions myself." Too late, he realized the slip he had made. However, he didn't see the blank, puzzled look he would have expected on a muggle encountering a new word. Instead, a small smile played over her lips and she stood up.

"Come on," she said playfully. "I'll teach you how to work a washing machine."

Draco eyed the large machine in front of him distastefully. Not only was it a dull, ugly tan color; it had a large, clear pane of glass in the middle. "Fine. I suppose I need to know."

The next forty-five minutes were devoted to Draco's forced learning of how to clean his clothes. Not that he enjoyed it in the least; washing was menial labor reserved for house-elves, or similar servants. Despite this, the girl's instruction made it much easier. Studying her face subtly while she adjusted the settings on the machine, he guessed that she was about his age, maybe a year or so younger. Something about her vaguely reminded him of someone. . . he couldn't have said what or who, but he knew it was there.

As they watched the clothes spin around (with Draco turning rather green from the quickness of the cycle), he began a conversation. "So why are you in the muggle world?" he started, keeping his voice down so that the others in the store – a pair of Asian teenagers clowning around in the corner with a short, brown-haired girl of their age – wouldn't overhear things that they shouldn't. "Are you actually here of your own accord? I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

She half-laughed, her voice echoing around the room. The brown eyes looked suddenly sad. "I'm here to study muggle relations. My name's . . . um . . .Cassie. What about you? You don't look happy to be here in the least."

"It's a long story. Suffice to say that I'm here for my own – " he sneered, "protection. I'd tell you the whole thing, but I don't want to be overheard, and our clothes are done."

"And what's your name again?"

Draco thought quickly. "Westley. Wes for short." Deciding to elaborate on his new name, he added, "Of all the names, my parents had to pick _Westley_!" He placed a sardonic emphasis on the last word.

"Oh, I don't know," Cassie said thoughtfully. "It's a very . . . _hot_ name. Well suited, if you ask me." With a smirk, she gathered up her bundle and left the store. _Now why haven't I seen her in Slytherin?_ Draco wondered. _She's made for that house_. Sighing, he picked up his bundle and, ignoring a quiet sigh from one of the girls in the corner that he was _sure_ was directed at him, began the drive home.

A/N Another short one. The entire story will probably be done in short chapters. Anyways, there are a couple surprises coming up . . . won't say what they are, but yeah. For those who didn't figure it out (and I don't blame you – I'm not especially smart myself), yes, Cassie is Ginny. And that's my cue. G'nite, folks!


	4. Discovery

Chapter 4

A/N Sorry, the summary seems to have mislead people to think it'd be Draco and OC – I thought I was being subtle and mysterious and all, but it turns out I'm just stupid. Why is my life like that?

Disclaimer: All J.K.'s, people. And if you review, when I have Draco, you can hug him. Actually, no. You can look at him. Yes, you have my explicit permission to look at him.

Silver eyes gleamed maliciously behind their mask. "Where – is – he?" Lucius Malfoy asked, dangerously quiet. Pansy Parkinson whimpered at the barely controlled anger in his voice.

"I – I don't know, sir. He just left one day, in the middle of classes and everything. All of his stuff disappeared about a day later, probably to join him. No one knows where he's gone, I swear it!"

"Very well then. And, since the Dark Lord is no longer around, you shall refer to me as 'Master.'"

"Yes, Master."

"Good, good. Go back to school, then. I'm sure those meddling teachers will have noticed your absence. I shall have to find a more . . . knowledgeable informant."

Pansy's eyes filled with tears. "No, Master! I can find out! Please, let me serve you!"

Lucius regarded her coldly. "Very well. I suppose your being at that filthy, mudblood-overriden school has its benefits. Do what you can to find out where my damned son is. Don't make it clear that I'm back, though. I'd rather no one know my location at the moment. I'm trusting you with my secret, Parkinson . . . will you fail me?"

"No, Master! I would never!"

Lucius sneered at her back as she left. Silly, simpering girl. It was hard for him to believe that he had considered a betrothal with her and Draco – she wasn't worthy of wiping the dirt off of the shoes of the house of Malfoy. Even if his son _was_ a blood traitor. His lip curled in a silent snarl as he remembered the humiliation he had been forced to suffer at the hands of that insolent brat. No matter . . . he would have his revenge soon enough. The snarl turned to a cold, unfeeling smile at the thought of his planned revenge. Oh, yes, Draco would regret his choice.

Pansy Parkinson fled back to Hogwarts, nearly in tears. She was always terrified out of her wits when she met with Lucius, but she really didn't have a choice – she would die before disobeying the wishes of her parents. Things were looking up for her, though. If she could just find out where Draco was living, she would be able to be on Lucius' good side. Now, if only she could get that ruddy Dumbledore to talk. . .

As Ginny walked home from the laundromat, she felt strangely depressed. Although she'd quite enjoyed the company of Wes, she felt completely alone among the muggles running around doing their daily work.

Immersed in her thoughts, she didn't even notice when she passed the store. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks and backed up, much to the protest of the pedestrian traffic around her. Staring at her out of a comfortable pet shop window was the most adorable dog she'd ever seen. Huge brown eyes shone out of a white face, as what she had mistaken for a rug lifted its face and barked happily at her through the glass. There might have even been a tail wagging, but she couldn't really tell under the hair.

_Maybe a dog is just what I need_, she thought, entering the store. There was a woman seated at a desk upon which was propped a large sign reading 'Information.' The large woman in a pink dress reminded Ginny horribly of Umbridge, from her fourth year. Mustering up her courage, Ginny approached the desk and asked hesitantly, "Um . . . excuse me . . . is that dog in the window for sale?"

The attendant smiled at her, making Ginny suddenly nervous on behalf of the small fly resting on the table. "Yes, dear, it is. It's a purebred shih tzu and Pomeranian mix, only $50 with kennel and three months worth of food."

Ginny had no idea how much that was in comparison to galleons, so she just paid and left. Fortunately, she had some money left over from the initial transition at Gringott's. She'd have to get a job eventually, but she was satisfied for now.

Walking back with the dog in her arms, Ginny felt blissful as she never had before. She had a _dog_. A pet. Something to connect her to the world she lived in now. Now maybe her apartment wouldn't be so lonely. When she got back, the dog assumed a place just in front of the door, lying with the back legs stretched out behind her and front legs in front.

_She looks like a doormat,_ Ginny thought, suppressing a giggle. The dog looked at her reproachfully, as if guessing the reason for her mirth. "You need a name," Ginny mused out loud, changing back into her original self. Red hair tumbled down her slender shoulders and into her thoughtful brown eyes. "How about –"

She cut short her ideas as she walked into the closet, barely noticing that she was yet to turn on any of the lights, and the windowless apartment was in darkness. The dog had wandered into the bathroom, and Ginny shut the door on her. It was cute, and all, but Ginny had no intention of cleaning up any messes in the apartment at the moment.

She heard some movement behind her and froze. A stumble and muffled curse came from the main area. Throat tightening, Ginny walked out of the tiny closest. A strong hand clapped down on her shoulder, and she lost it. Whirling around, the fiery redhead screamed bloody murder into her assailants face, and he reeled backwards from the sheer force of her anger and terror.

"Bloody hell, girl!" The voice came from the dark, and Ginny nearly fainted in relief when she heard the silky elegance of Wes's voice, sounding quite harangued at the moment.

"Wes!" she gasped. "I'm sorry! You scared me so badly!"

"It's fine," he replied, smirking. "I'll only have permanent hearing damage."

"I really am sorry," Ginny acquiesced, then added accusingly, "but may I ask a) how you know where I live and b) why you scared me like that?"

Draco at least had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, my apologies about that. I wanted to talk to you, and so when I saw you pass the Laundromat again, I just followed you back." He paused and looked around. "Nice place you have. It's very . . . homey."

Ginny blushed, imaging mansions and castles and just really, really big houses. "It's not the best for now, but . . . it's home," she finished lamely, running a hand through her vibrant red curls.

He looked more closely at her. "Your hair . . . it's different."

_Oh shit_, Ginny thought. "It's a dye!" she crowed triumphantly, realizing a second too late that she'd just yelled in her moment of brilliance.

Meanwhile, wheels were turning in Draco's brain. He was not stupid, that one, and he knew a Weasley when he saw one. It was the littlest Weasley, standing here before him! The Weaslette!


End file.
